Old Haunts
by Not So Gallant Gallade
Summary: A second chance, but a different perspective. A sorrowful set of memories that still linger. When these two are intertwined, an adventure to rewrite the ending of a tragedy is born.
1. Death's Doorstep

_**I HAVE REPLACED THIS CHAPTER WITH A SLIGHTLY EDITED VERSION, AFTER REALIZING A BIG MISTAKE. WHICH YOU CAN EASILY FIND BY READING THE REVIEWS. BUT DON'T DO THAT. XD**_

_**Anyways, this version doesn't have any issue with the parents, so it should be readable without any complaints that the parents are monsters. All the rest is the same, actually, except the one part, as well as a minor fix on something else. Chapter Two will be posted shortly, as I will attempt a consistent, weekly update on this story.**_

_**Enjoy.  
**_

* * *

**8.6**

Beep. Beep. Beep.

This was what my heart was reduced to. The simple contracting and expanding was getting harder, more strenuous, and ready to give out at any given minute. It was, to use the old phrase, ticking like a time bomb, and if someone didn't cut the right wires I was going to blow.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

My stomach acids had staged a revolt, eating away at the lining, Mightyenas eagerly feasting on a Stantler carcass. One kidney was on strike, and slowly coaxing the other to join. Taking a simple piss set my genitals on fire. Every breath was bated, strained, reluctant. My body was working so poorly, you'd think they were under a failed communism regime. _Hey, if the kid lives through the day, we're fine._

Beep. Beep. Beep.

This was what my days were reduced to. It was like a countdown clock, but nobody knew when it would hit zero. All I knew was that it kept me in some sort of constant panic. I'd almost gotten used to it, strangely enough, but that'll happen when you've been lying in a hospital bed for a month. They tried every medication, any medication. They even tried pot.

Nothing worked. My body was deteriorating like old paint.

The last thing you want to hear a doctor say is "I don't know." It symbolizes hopelessness, being desperate. In other words: the end.

I heard it two days ago.

They tried not to have me hear. The doctor hid behind a corner and told my parents. He hushed his voice and spoke calmly. Hey, he was too jaded by being surrounded by death every day to really care. So I heard him say it. I heard the stunned silence, then the choked-up breaths of my mother. My father was trying to stay calm, but I heard him begin to break down as well. And as I lie there on the hospital bed, a sobering thought pierced through my head, cracking my skull wide open.

I was going to die.

**8.7**

I flatlined yesterday.

Defibrillators brought me back, though.

I thought I was going to panic, to flail and kick and scream as Death slowly took over my soul and body. And yet, I fell peacefully away, quietly drifting into the abyss before I was jolted awake.

Life and death must be next-door neighbors.

**8.8**

The doctor came in today and closed the door, making sure it was just us two. His eyes looked… not morbid.

"Alistair, do you know what a soul transplant is?" he asked, by my bedside now.

"Soul transplant?" I replied.

"Guess not. Well, it's just a nickname for the procedure, since the real name is incredibly long and hard to pronounce. Anyways, it's a very risky procedure, but it's worked out often enough for us to be able to offer it to patients in dire circumstances such as yours…"

The doctor pushed the bridge of his glasses up on his nose, and his spike brown hair was staying almost perfectly in place, without any trace of gel. I simply nodded and let him continue.

"Essentially, it's a type of brain transplant. Your mind gets put into a new body, and if it adjusts, you carry on life as normal in the new body."

"That's even possible?" I questioned, and the doctor nodded with a sly grin plastered on his face.

"The wonders of today's technology, eh? Of course, the risks and huge. A hundred and one things could go wrong, and any of them are likely lethal in your state."

"So are you asking if I want to do it?" I responded.

"Why yes, yes I am. I did ask your parents, by the way. They're all for it as well."

"Cool, I guess my option's clear then."

"Very good- oh! There's something else… I checked on the possible bodies to put you in, and… let's say you're gonna have some adjustments to make."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, right now we don't have any male bodies other than that of a 70-year-old diabetic's, and I seriously doubt you want a woman's body."

"That leaves me with becoming…"

"Yep."

I sighed, and looked at my hands. Pretty soon, they'd be gone, replaced, a line and a blurb on my life's timeline. I'd always been good at making adjustments, but this… unless I was given the right body, this could be a thorn in my side the rest of my life. Not to mention the huge risk of me dying in surgery. That usually wasn't good.

The doctor sensed my apprehension, and said "Hey now, the odds of you living are as good as you dying, pretty much."

I looked up at him and raised a single eyebrow.

"Okay, poorly worded. But would you rather waste away in bed like this? Come on, I'll show you the bodies we have, you can at least get an idea of who we have available."

I slowly nodded, and he transferred me to a wheelchair. He rolled my ever-present IV and me down to the second floor, and they had just a few bodies to choose from, for two reasons the doctor told me. One, the demand was obviously low. Two, they had to meet a high level of requirements in order to have it decreed safe to be transplanted into. Obviously, one doesn't want to be transplanted to a body with more holes than Swiss cheese, and probably wouldn't be anyways.

I glanced at the choices, but my decision was pretty clear. This pokemon was humanlike, not to mention he looked pretty awesome. The doctor said he'd held up incredibly well too, for he'd been dead for over a year.

"Well, you ready Alistair?"

"Nope," I said, forcing a grin.

"You're gonna be fine, I just know it. You've made it this far."

Luckily enough, a surgery room was open, and the doctor rushed me over. The last thing I saw as the anesthetics invaded my body was another gurney being wheeled in.


	2. Alive

_Chapter 2! I wish this chappy was longer, to be honest, but after the editing I had to do (as I wrote this whole chapter from scratch thanks to my terrible screw-up in the first chapter that was edited out) I just wanted to get this up. Apologies on the lack of action so far, it'll start in a couple chapters. Sorta. Rest assured, next chapter will see Alistair out of the friggin' hospital. xD_

_Oh, and I will try not to confuse people with contrasting styles, as my good buddy Stolloss pointed out last chapter that I wrote in two completely different styles. I'm always trying to improve, but I do believe that I should stick to my own identity. So this is a return to form in a way for me, which is good. Unless you hated my writing, but then, why would you be reading this if you hated my writing?_

_Finally, I would like to point out that I have started a collab with the vastly superior writer Happy2BMe, named The Market. It's a sci-fi-ish story with some great drama and action, and the most badass character I've ever had the fortune of writing. The penname for us is Mailbox Hunters, the story's name is The Market, and the review count is too low. Make me happy. Boost it._

_Anyways, read, review, and go listen to some Shins! Nao! _

* * *

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I opened my eyes for the first time after a pleasant nap, and a dream of which all I could remember was an Altaria and a pineapple. Stupid anesthetics.

I felt…odd. But not in a bad way. My body was raging, trying to figure out what this new brain was doing in its territory. Because of this, my whole body seemed to be in a constant state of confusion, not sure who to side with. And yeah, it felt like I had a couple dozen small knives in various places in my body, with a slight movement in any direction causing the sharp stabbing pain to which I wasn't exactly a foreigner.

But after having all my internal organs conspire against me and nearly succeed, it felt refreshing, in a slightly masochistic way.

Hey, I was alive.

"Alistair?"

Dr. Wren strutted into the room, a proud grin plastered on his face. You'd have thought he was my father. "How're you faring?"

"Great, far as I can tell. I'm pretty sure this isn't heaven," I answered, and Wren laughed heartily.

"No no, you're still on earth. The surgery was a total success… better so far than any other recipient of this surgery. Most patients take at least a month of hardcore medication, but you could be out in a couple weeks if we get lucky. Until then, though, you have your nice, comfy hospital bed to lie in. In a couple days, you'll start physical therapy as well. Any questions?"

"Not really…" I replied, not sure of what else to say. _No, Dr. Wren, I think I'll just skip all the medicine and stuff._

I suddenly yawned, and felt my eyelids grow anvil heavy as Dr. Wren made some observations and jotted info down on a chart, pen flying all around the page.

"Just get some rest, Alistair…" he said quietly, and at that I drifted off.

I didn't even look at my body.

* * *

As Dr. Wren strode out of the room, feeling like one proud papa, the real papa was staring right into his mahogany eyes, the father's spouse right next to him.

"Is he okay?" the mother asked, her voice stretched-rubber-band tense.

"Oh, yes, everything went splendidly. He'll be here a few more weeks, obviously, for the medications, but unless he has an adverse reaction to the meds he should be successfully discharged in due time.

Both of their faces lit up immediately. "That's the best news we've heard in a long, long time," the father said, flashing Dr. Wren a toothy smile.

A foggy silence enveloped them, trying to squeeze some words out of someone's throat, and finally Dr. Wren spit out a sentence. "Well, Alistair's sleeping, so you're probably not going to want to disturb him…"

"Yes, of course. Have to give our boy some shut-eye, especially after the procedure. Thank you, doctor, for everything," mother said, wiping her eye clear of unwanted fluids.

They turned and went back to the waiting room, and Dr. Wren smiled. Everything was going well… maybe he'd even get a salary raise or promotion for this. But the thing that mattered most was the well-being of Alistair, honestly. He'd been through so much trouble, so much anguish the past few weeks and finally his condition was on the uptick.

Good things do happen to good people.

* * *

The next week flew by faster than a Pidgeot, mostly because I was either sound asleep or high on meds. However, the next week I spent more time up and about, trying to get a feel for everything now that my body wasn't trying nonstop to kill my brain.

Turns out being a Gallade is more different than I thought.

Oh, yes, did I forget to mention that? Yeah, my species is pretty cool too. But that's for a bit later. Right now, I was cursing the fact that I had completely flat feet and pretty awkward hands. But hey, I was alive, that was a perk.

As I strolled around for the first time (well, more like hobbled around, with a walking stick in my right hand and a nurse right beside me), I felt, more than ever, liberated. It wasn't just that I was let out from the prison cell that was my hospital room, which had incarcerated me for the past month, but I felt like for the first time, I truly appreciated life and every little nuance of it.

Although I didn't really appreciate the artificial smells floating around the hospital, wafting from seemingly every room. Those were just disgusting.

It was strange, though, how everybody seemed to recognize me, but at the same time act like I'm a completely different person. I was still Alistair, I was still a human, just in a not-so-human body. Hey, it wasn't like I was an Absol: some people freak out at the mere mention of them, thanks to those impertinent myths. I personally thought they were pretty cute.

No, not like _that_.

When we turned around to walk back, I told the nurse "Let me see if I can walk by myself." She let go of my hand, gently, and I took a step forward.

And collapsed like I'd been shot.

I wasn't ready quite yet.

After the nurse helped me back on my feet, I trudged back to my room with her hanging on to me like she was the one unable to walk. Finally, I collapsed onto the mattress, and unsurprisingly was out like a light as the nurse stuck an IV back into my green arm.

Life and death were next-door neighbors, but I'd just ding-dong ditched Death.

* * *

Finally, the parents could see their son. They'd waited excruciatingly long for this opportunity, as he was under the eyes of seemingly every employee of the hospital, but finally he was well enough that they could come and check on him.

As they arrived in the hospital, Dr. Wren greeted them, everyone wearing smiles.

"Everyone here is just so proud of your son, his recuperation is just near-miraculous."

"I think we're all in agreement on that. So, where is the man of the hour?" the father asked, looking like he was straining to hold back his giddiness.

"Oh, yes, follow me. He's on the second floor." Dr. Wren waved an arm and took his long strides over to the elevator, the parents in tow. They were raised a floor in silence, and the lack of conversation was slightly discomforting to Dr. Wren and his metabolism, which was infamously high. He sensed the anxiety in the air, though, and thus he kept quiet.

After a lengthy stroll to the end of the east wing they arrived at his room, and as Dr. Wren put his ear to the door he heard rustling from inside.

"Good, he's awake," he said quietly, as if the boy was asleep. He slowly opened the door, and held back the parents with just one finger.

"Alistair?" he asked, slipping in by his lonesome.

"Yes?" he asked, perking up. He was currently in the process of being stumped by a Rubik's cube.

"Your parents are gonna come in to see you," came the simple reply. It was less of an answer than a statement.

"Oh, all right!" Alistair's face lit up, and as he set the puzzle on the bedside table, the door creaked open, then shut as three bodies were now in the doorway.

Alistair's mother looked over at her son… and was speechless.

* * *

"Hey mom!" I said cheerfully, sitting up.

"A-alistair?" she replied, walking over. It took me a minute to recognize her reaction: basically the same as everyone else's. I reached over for a hug, and was diffidently granted one. My father gave me a firm handshake, meanwhile, and I was all smiles.

"So, how've you been?" I asked, in a sort of mocking tone.

"Well, instead of lying in a hospital bed for a week I've been in my own bed for a week. Came down with a flu bug, finally got over it two days ago," Dad replied. Ironically, he coughed right after that statement.

"That's good. That you got over it, not that you had it in the first place," I answered, grinning.

Dad responded "Well, you're obviously doing better than the last time we saw you."

"Yep! And Mom, how're you doing?"

"Oh… I'm fine." Mom obviously wasn't as chipper as my father.

"That's… fine!" I said. For some reason, I felt like the tension in the air was as humid as Orre's vast desert in the summer.

"Anyways, I'll let you get some rest, Alistair. See you in a while," she said, mustering a smile. I returned it, and my dad followed her out of the room.

Dr. Wren turned to me after they closed the door, and was still smiling (I hadn't seen him frown… ever, actually. And in a hospital too!). "I'd take a siesta until your next little therapy session if I were you, but it's your choice. Oh, and your dad brought your DS if you wanted to play at some point."

I beamed, for about the thousand-and-first time today, but then looked at my hands. How was I supposed to play a video game with these, much less use a touch screen?

"You'll find a way," he stated, noticing my bewilderment. With a wink, he slipped out himself, leaving me to my own devices. As I drifted off to sleep (under my own power, thank you very much), I saw a figure set something on my bedside table. Just like the past month, everything went blurry, and I finally slid into the shadows of slumber.

* * *

_1. If I put too many line breaks in there... it won't happen again. So don't complain._

_2. In case you don't know what ding-dong-ditching is, it's the classic trick of ringing the doorbell of a house and then running away. So obviously, when the person answers the door, nobody's there._

_Thus the metaphor._

_Yeah._

_Oh, and while the chapter's name is simple enough (Alive), I'll just say that Alive is also my favorite Pearl Jam song. xD  
_


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